


Leave your light on

by Thedamnraven



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 21:02:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15179327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thedamnraven/pseuds/Thedamnraven
Summary: The fact that they have not suspected a thing about my inclinations is a blessing. They are not a stupid bunch of lads but through the years I must have grown accustomed to my persona as the hard working officer of the law and now I play my part very convincingly.





	Leave your light on

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old fic of mine, written years ago and previously posted on LiveJournal.  
> Fic is mine, characters ain't. Thanks Mr Doyle. And Thank you, sweet toodlepipsigner, for beta-ing for me! *big kiss*

Leave your light on.

 

Being in love and working up the nerves to tell the object of one’s affections, is always a hard and nerve racking task. If said object happens to be a person of the same sex as your own, the task becomes not only difficult, it is not even done. Sexual deviancy is a horrible crime, punishable by law. If you are an invert, you need to be utterly careful not to be detected as one. This involves creating a background story to lean upon when asked personal questions:  
“Why aren’t you married yet?”; “I know this woman that would suit you just perfectly”; or the more crude remarks whispered or shouted at the pub by more or less drunken friends to or about rosy-cheeked serving maids.   
I have created the simultaneously perfect and worst persona to conceal my true nature.   
I am a detective. I am an inspector and I work for Scotland Yard.  
My name is Gabriel Lestrade and I am an invert.

Yes, my cover is both perfect and very, very difficult. I can evade matrimony with the excuse of not wanting to bring a woman in to the often dangerous and tiresome life of a policeman's wife. I can blame the hard work and long hours to avoid socializing, thus escape the snares of matchmaking. I can refer to my occupation for my dislike of using the Ladies of the Night.   
The fact that most of my friends are also detectives and policemen under Scotland Yard is a nuisance. The fact that they have not suspected a thing about my inclinations is a blessing. They are not a stupid bunch of lads but through the years I must have grown accustomed to my persona as the hard working officer of the law and now I play my part very convincingly.   
That is just as well, because my only reoccurring acquaintance that is not within the policeforce, is the famous Consulting Detective, Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

How I have escaped his ever-working mind I can not fathom. Maybe it is true what Dr Watson writes in his stories: that the man does not have nor want knowledge of the softer emotions. The man is a genius when it comes to minute traces of lint, ashes, poisons and tracks; but as of love, caring and desires, the man is blind as a bat.   
For years I have watched him work, watched him find invisible leads, watched him catch the most elusive criminals, watched him move with catlike grace: his agile, smooth movements. Watched him explode in sudden bursts of strength and speed at pursuits. Watched him sitting absolutely still and quiet for hours on stakeouts. I have watched him. Yes I have watched him and I like what I see.   
The detective is a tall slender man with tight muscles and smooth pale skin. He is always immaculately dressed unless you come upon him during one of his black moods. Those times he will greet you, _if_ he opens his door at all, clad in his dressing gown, unshaven and with tousled hair.

Last summer I had been working on a most disturbing case where all the leads I followed ended up being false traces.  
There had been thefts. Corpses and parts of bodies had been stolen from morgues and graveyards repeatedly during a few months and the perpetrators had left no traces or leads. I had twisted and turned the case, looked at it from all angles but could not see anything new.   
Luckily, the thefts seemed to stop. It might have been the very warm late summer weather, making corpses the not so ideal companions.   
  
It was long after midnight when I decided to end my day. The night was still warm and the air was heavy with scents of blooming flowers.   
I walked the streets thinking about the crimes that stood before me, letting my feet find my way home through the dark alleys and houses seeing nothing but black windows, the occasional street-worker and feral cats.  
I stopped outside Baker Street, it actually was on my way home, and glanced up to Mr. Holmes window. I saw a faint light and movement.  
I knew Mr. Holmes had occasional nights when he could not sleep, his brain never slowing enough to let him rest. Those nights he tried to distract himself with chemical experiments, playing the violin, pacing or smoking. If nothing else worked he would drug himself to relaxation with cocaine or opium.   
I could see his silhouette pacing the room and stopping at his desk to retrieve an item, a box which, I knew, contained his cocaine.  
I decided I should go up and have a little idle chat to distract him from the box, to stop him from drugging himself, to stop him from muddling that beautiful mind.

The front door was locked but as a friend a police officer, I had gotten a spare key to the house to use in emergencies.   
As it was very late, the landlady probably fast asleep and my friend about to use drugs, I considered this at least a small emergency and let myself in.   
The stairs did not creak under my light weight and I practically soundlessly got up to his floor.   
I knocked on the door to his sitting room.  
“Come in Lestrade!” I heard his baritone voice say through the wooden door. It was unlocked, and so I entered the barely lit room.  
He was sitting sideways on the broad windowsill, his knees drawn up to his chest, feet bare and he was looking out the window.   
Dressed only in his grey silk dressing gown and a rubber tourniquet around his arm, an empty syringe lay beside him.   
What he could detect in the dense darkness only he would know.  
 “Good evening Holmes!” I greeted the object of my admiration. “So sorry to intrude on you, but I felt in need of some human company and distraction. The paperwork is horribly tedious at this hour. Since your lights were on…”  
“You have no case for me then?” He said, still looking out the window.  
”Well, no, not really. The only case I have at the moment is about to be closed and I fear you would not find it interesting anyway.”   
I stepped in to the room and, feeling slightly worn, perched myself on the settee. There was no fire lit, but a candle in its place made the room feel rather... intimate.  I stretched out my legs with a sigh and turned to Holmes.  
”Do you have a case at the moment?” I asked, knowing the answer. His slouched posture told me already that he was bored beyond oblivion.  
He turned and flashed a quick half-smile in my direction, then leaned his head back, grinning to the ceiling.   
“No, Lestrade, I have nothing to occupy my bloody mind at all!”   
He shifted position slightly, untied his tourniquet and pulled down the sleeve of his gown. I could see the change in him when the cocaine rushed in his bloodstream. He closed his eyes, parted his lips and sighed contently. His body relaxed and sunk down to blend with the wood of his chosen seat. His hands slid down from where they were placed on his knees, taking the robe with them and exposing his bare legs.  
I stared at him. How could I not?

He was so beautiful in the light from the candle, with his neck delicately tilted back, his dewy lips shone a pale shade of scarlet. His black silken hair glimmered when he moved his head just a little.   
I felt an unbelievably strong urge to run my fingers through that dark tousled mane. I could almost feel the thick, soft strands of hair between my fingers.  
I imagined how his lips, those glistening, gorgeous lips would feel against mine, moving slowly and passionately.  
I saw myself caressing those smooth white legs, licking in a trail from his knees up to the top of his inner thighs, tasting his warm, slightly salty skin. I could almost smell his arousal, so vivid was my imagination at that moment. I had not had such a view before me in a very long time.

“It seems as though at least _you_ have no problems finding distractions, Lestrade!”   
His amused voice shook me out of my reverie.   
With slight panic, I noticed he was watching me, and had apparently done so for a while. The smell of arousal I had thought was the product of my mind proved to be the product of my body. I had become very hard and my thin linen trousers did not conceal that fact.  
I felt myself blush heavily.   
  
”I—I am so sorry! I have no idea what to say, p-p-please..!” I spluttered, my face turning from bright red to ghostly pale at the realization that my secret was out. The worst part of that was that I had only myself to blame. How could I have let my mind produce such improper thoughts in the presence of the man I desired? I should have had better control over myself at that stage of my life.   
I began to rise to leave but was startled to hear a low chuckle from the window.  
“Sit down Lestrade. You do understand you can not leave here in that condition. You might be seen.”  
Holmes swung his long legs down from the windowsill and rose.  
“Can I get you a brandy?” he asked and went to pour me a glass.   
  
I sat down again, knowing he was right. I buried my face in my hands and tried to push back the tears that threatened to escape down my cheeks. That would only add to my shame, crying, a grown man, a police officer, crying in embarrassment.  
”Here you are, my dear Inspector.”   
I took the brandy with shaky hands and swallowed it down quickly. Holmes sat down beside me on the settee and grinned mischievously. I stared at him like a frightened bunny before a hungry wolf.   
”Please Holmes, I can explain! I am v-very tired, and—”   
”Lestrade... ” He began, eyes glittering with humor. “I have no desire to talk this over. I will not turn you in, and I am _not_ repulsed. That is all I have to say on the matter.” then he took my hand, placed it on his knee and bent forward and kissed me.

Startled, I jerked back but was captured by a long slender hand on the back of my neck.  
“Now, Lestrade, do not fear me. I am a man of my word, and seldom have my endeavors borne fruitless.” he purred. He kissed me again, and it was just as amazing as I’d thought it would be.   
His lips were just as soft and warm as I had imagined.   
I moved my hand under his dressing gown, and truly, his skin was just as smooth in texture as it appeared.   
I slowly trailed my hand up his thigh, feeling my pulse quicken. Holmes threw his head back on the backrest sighing with pleasure as I neared his groin. He wore nothing beneath and with trembling hands I undid the sash and let the robe fall open. He was utterly beautiful.

His chest was like the finest marble, hairless with dark nipples. His abdominal muscles were well defined and dusted with a slim trail of hair leading down to his cock; which, firm and eager, awaited attention. It was rather large and slim, but not overly so. My own is a little shorter though it substitutes girth for length.

My hands were drawn to his member like a moth to a flame, and with eager fingers I traced the shape of him up and down, again and again. His hips were moving along with my caresses and his cheeks were flushed a gorgeous, pink hue.  
I leaned myself over him and kissed his jaw line, trailing kisses and nibbles down that long gracious neck while unbuttoning my clothes. He pushed my jacket and waistcoat off my person, almost ripping out my buttons while trying to undo my shirt.  
  
Once divested of most of our clothes, we embraced again and kissed frantically, hands roaming and touching as much skin as we could possible touch with only four hands. The settee proved to be smaller than was required for the task and we soon found ourselves gliding down to the floor. I lay myself on top of Holmes, grinding my pelvis against his hard penis, drawing sharp groans of appreciation from his lips.   
  
He suddenly pushed me off him and turned me on my back. He kissed me hard, thrusting his tongue into my mouth, sending a series of shivers throughout my arched shoulders.  
He tasted of tobacco with faint traces of wine, though I did not mind. His mouth was hot, and the foreign tongue stroked my own, lazily and erotically. Jolts of pleasure ran down to the base of my spine and the heat building in my crotch was becoming unbearable. ”Please!” I panted, ”I need…”  
What I needed was never said, because at that moment he grabbed my hard cock through my pants and squeezed it gently. I groaned out loud and bucked against him.   
He kissed my chest, capturing one of my hard nipples between his lips and flicked it carefully with his tongue while rubbing my aching cock, still confined within my trousers.   
I felt dizzy with excitement. I was moaning and cursing this exquisite but torturing man above me.  
I felt his lips move down my stomach, his hot breath coming in hard puffs against my overly sensitive skin.

My flies were suddenly open and that breath was now teasing my straining manhood.   
“You smell so good, inspector,” he murmured, taking a deep breath.   
“Please! Holmes!” I whimpered. His eyes glittered when he looked up at me, his thumbs rubbing circles at my bare hips.   
“Do you taste good too, Gabriel?” he asked and took the tip of my cock into his mouth. I could only grunt as my head fell back to the floor, the pleasure of his tongue rubbing against the underside of my member rendering me wordless. He swallowed me down, sucking and teasing my cock until I was writhing with my need for release.   
He stopped then and lay on top of me, kissing me fiercely, grinding his hard, throbbing manhood against mine. Supporting his weight on one arm, he reached between us and took us both in his hand. The tight warmth made me thrust eagerly in his fist. The feeling of his hard cock against mine was too much and only seconds later I exploded.   
White searing waves of release shook my body and I could only faintly hear and feel Holmes come shortly after me.

I lay there, panting, sweating and utterly content. The heavy form of Holmes on top of me felt reassuring and lovely.  
“I think you broke me, Gabriel.” Holmes whispered quietly in my ear. “I never knew you had so much passion in you.”   
I smiled. “I never knew you had knowledge of the existence of carnal pleasures” I teased him.  
The deep chuckle emerging from my new lover made my heart flutter.   
“My dear Gabriel, I am happy you came here tonight.” he slid down from me and lay on his side, leaning on his elbow.  
“You saved me from having to fling myself from the roof in attempt to outrun my black mood.” He did not meet my eyes and fiddled with my sparse chest-hair. He was embarrassed.  
  
“Holmes, I hope you shall not do such a stupid and boring thing. You do know who will have to look at your crushed body and morbidly bent limbs! Watson will not be pleased. And not to mention the ENDLESS paperwork you will force me through. I will take a vacation if I hear of you flinging anything at all from any roof from now on!” I said with a mock stern voice.   
  
He threw his head back and laughed out loud.   
“You are quite lovely, inspector!” he said and kissed me.   
“Well, so are you my dear detective. So lovely in fact, that your mangled corpse would reawaken the body-thieves with its loveliness, forcing them to restart their thieving business, steal you from the morgue, and do whatever they do with stolen corpses and I would, again, have a lot of work to do.”  
Holmes roared with laughter, rolling onto his back on the floor.  
“I was wondering when you would bring your case up. The bodies stolen in the last two months are stored in an ice-house beneath the local University.” He smiled smugly.

“What?”   
I sat up.  
“Three students, I have their names on the desk, have been disowned by their families, I have no knowledge of why though, and are running short on funds. They have been stealing and selling body-parts to different medicinal universities up north. The man who transports the parts did not like the weather we are having and told the students to put the corpses on ice until colder days. I guess three or four days in a warm carriage will not make his passengers’ personal odor smell of daisies and honey!”   
He yawned and stretched his bare arms over his head, and let them lay there. He looked like a self-content, smug cat.  
  
“You are telling me you _knew_ of this all along and did not tell me?”   
I was shocked and a bit furious.  
“No Lestrade, I learned of this only a few hours ago when I happened to be out. I walk a lot when I feel restless, and due to the warmth I let myself down to the much cooler sewers, they do have a walkway you know, and there I came across these three lads discussing the amount of ice they needed to keep the bodies fresh. The rest was easy.”  
  
I sighed, got up, dressed and walked over to the desk. The note was there, just as he had said, and I pocketed it carefully. Holmes had retied his dressing gown and was back on the settee, smoking.  
“You do understand we will have to act with trepidation when Watson is home? He is a light sleeper, a habit from Afghanistan.”   
“You wish to do this again?” I asked.  
“It is agreeable to me.” He answered with a broad grin.  
“Well, just leave your light on!” I said and walked out with a smile.

 


End file.
